The Train
by onelastchapter
Summary: Lily likes to read morbid cliche poetry, Hugo's suddenly smart druggy, Scorpius is a constant, and Rose sees it all from her hospital bed. (Possible triggers or sensitive topic)


**A/N: ****(word) amyloidosis, ****(word) pernicious, ****(word) torrent**

**CHASER 2: 'It must unscrew this way... No, that way...' for the Appleby Arrows.**

**Possibly sensitive or triggering.**

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><p><em>For the Appleby Arrows, you know I love you guys.<em>

_In honor of and dedicated to Lynn, Ella, Kitty, Claudia, Pheobe, Angel, and Lizzie_

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><p>Rose Weasley was a sick girl. She wasn't repulsive or sadistic but she was sick. Rose Weasley was really truly sick. Being sick wasn't like being a 'grenade' as Lily Potter would often write poems about Rose as.<p>

Rose wasn't 'a grenade' but she still sat through Lily's antics and spasmodic fangirl moments. Lily thought that Rose was lucky. Lily still thought that somewhere in the great big spand of St. Mangos that there would be some beanie wearing, unlit cigarette smoking, similar medical condition diagnosed, tall guy that Rose was destined to fall in love with.

There was nothing romantic about Cardiac Amyloidosis, but Rose never corrected Lily. Rose had a rare case. Her life expectancy had been lengthened sure to the wonders of a little thing called magic. Though that didn't mean that she didn't have to wear diapers on the bad nights or suffer the unattractive swelling and perpetually red ankles and arms like everyone else. Magic was magical but it couldn't fix everything.

Rose wasn't a bomb or a grenade. She was more like a slow acting poisonous gas. Really, she was more pernicious then anything. Scorpius Malfoy came every weekend during the school year and every day during the summer holidays. Rose honestly thought that he wold have left her ages ago.

They didn't do romantic stuff anymore though they weren't 'out' as a couple. They were still a couple, but only in name. Maybe Scorpius loved Rose and that's why he came every week at twelve, but Rose doubted it.

Rose loved Scorpius though.

Their relationship was a secret until, Rose was hospitalized for the last time. They became a 'couple' in the eyes of Rose's and Scorpius' family only two months ago.

Maybe, in another life, they would meet again and fall in proper love.

It was their seventh year when Rose left school for the final time. She wasn't returning and she didn't have much of a future. There was no reason to study for the N.E.W.T.s. Even though, Rose did. She had been driven to it for years and that had been reinforced by six full years of academic schooling. Like hell she wasn't going to do it.

Rose Weasley was either crazy or academically unique like that.

So that was what she was doing when Hugo, her overly depressed brother, arrived.

Hugo Weasley used to be lively and optimistic. He used to be excitable and adventurous. Hugo, however, wasn't fourteen anymore. No. Now, fifteen year old Hugo wore black skinny jeans and plastic-painted-silver studded necklaces.

Rose had honestly thought that boys that dressed like Hugo only existed in muggle media. The gaggle of weed smoking and booze drinking teens that Hugo 'hung out' with proved Rose wrong.

Though Rose didn't mind Hugo's dress. Her father gagged and their mother called him trashy with a crinkle in her nose-and not that Rose didn't agree, Hugo _was_ a trashy dresser, but it had nothing to do with Rose.

Adorned in unnaturally black jem rings and more mascara then Rose had ever been allowed or had ever worn, Hugo's style was all his own. Rose's 'grenade' had nothing to do with it. Hugo as just in a phase that was completely unrelated to Cardiac Amyloidosis unlike the rest of his life.

Edged with weekly hospital check ups, Hugo's childhood hadn't been 'normal' but he himself, Hugo, had been normal. Their parents dropped him off at one of their many relatives homes - who were all too willing to keep Hugo considering the 'situation' - frankly, Hugo never noticed the diffrence. They visited their relatives so often he never could tell the difference.

It was in his summer before third year when Hugo found out. That was when all the little things Rose had never been able to do fell into place! creating a frightining puzzle that Hugo wished he had never solved. Rose wasn't allowed to eat this or that. Rose couldn't play quidditch. Rose couldn't ride brooms. Rose couldn't be tackles. Don't hurt Rose.

_Don't break Rose._

He was a little dense at times. He had seen a bad moment, and Rose had, until that moment, thought that Hugo _knew_. their parents had thought that too. Hugo was twelve when he was told, quite bluntly, that his sister was going to die.

Hugo entered her private room with a bang. Nurses and healers scurried out side, frankly moving from one place to the next. That was what Rose was used to but as Hugo entered, the world slowed down. He shed his dark overcoat so Rose could get a clear view of his rock band t-shirt, and sat down in the uncomfortable chair next to her.

He smelled horrible and his eyes were glassy. He pulled a flask from his jacket and mumbled as he tried to pen it.

"It must unscrew this way... No, that way..."

It was an uphill battle and eventually Rose held out her palm and gave her older sister look. A look as to which Hugo smiled at. Rose wasn't sure if he was mocking her or if that strange glint in his eyes was something more somber or melancholy.

Either way, she undid the top and gently handed it back to her brother.

What could she do to stop him? She wasn't exactly sister or the year. She wasn't even in his life. She didn't know what he was doing outside of his erratic visits. This was the first time he had visited her smashed. Though Rose had gotten subtle indicators from eavesdropping on her parents that a drunk Hugo wasn't all too uncommon these days.

Hugo tipped the metal flask back and took a quick swig.

He offered her some too and at first she refused. Then, when she saw he was going to take another gulp, she held ot her hand and like before he placed it directly in her palm.

Fingers, dry and frail, grasped the cool metal and Rose couldn't help but think of how she had never drunk or had even drank before this moment. Rose's fifteen year old brother had more experience with booze, smoking, drinking, and sex then she ever did.

That wasn't how it was supposed to be. But that was just how it turned out.

The fizzling liquid made its way down Rose's throat and bored holes in her stomach, leaving Rose coughing and sputtering.

Hugo laughed. Wether maliciously or just out of the irony that he might have spotted too, it was a wonderful sound. Rose wished that she could have heard it more often. Which ever it was, Rose laughed along. She didn't find anything particularly funny but it was just nice to laugh.

A smile even made it to her face when they laughed in sync. That was how brother-sister-relationships were supposed to be.

Hugo stayed another hour, and they talked about meaningless every day stuff that was Rose's snippet of the outside world. Rose alerted Hugo of the romantic status of a healer that, as Hugo said, had smashing legs for a twenty-eight year old, and Hugo talked about their parents.

Hugo talked about global issues and that was when it struck Rose that Hugo was growing up. Hugo could swear and Hugo could bitch but until, then, Hugo wasn't a young adult to Rose. The Hugo she knew wasn't capable to deep fully developed thoughts. She thought that his brain was used to store an unlimited amount of tactics and plays in Quidditch. She didn't know that he had room for anything else.

Don't get her wrong, Rose knew Hugo was intelligent. She knew Hugo was smart but she hadn't truly realized that he was until she heard the constant stream or political plous and actions that were some how comming from her punk brother's mouth. It sounded like something she would have said.

When Hugo left later that evening - he had stayed five hours - Rose cried.

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><p>On Rose's death bed several things happened. Lily seemed have burned that book that she had been so infatuated with. The book that was so often quoted was no more than ashes and scorch marks that marred Lily's bedroom wall and floor. Lily sobbed and cried until the healers dragged her out.<p>

Scorpius held her hand for a total of six minuets. He couldn't kiss her on the mouth because of her face mask. It was before Hermione and Ron Weasley and the whole Weasley clan that Scorpius Malfoy, with his frazzled mess of curly blonde hair, put his lips to the brow of a dying girl who seemingly relaxed at his every touch.

Never mind normal, forget the other life- that was 'proper love'.

He left as soon as he had come and Rose felt his absence.

What happened next was a bumble of family and family friends. A couple close friends and then it was Hugo and her at last. Their family had filed out by then, either cring, getting some tea or simply do it doing anything.

It was then that the torrent of Rose's thoughts finally came out.

She was afraid to die.

In the months leading up to the moment of truth, Rose had been nonchalant. She had been perfectly okay with the propect of leaving her earthy body. Though looking up at her somehow burly goth brother, she couldn't bare it. She would never seen him grow into his sholders or watch him do something with this brilliant mind.

She would never laugh with him again.

She really didn't want to die and she couldnt do anything about it. Hugo held her, his chest heaving along with her own, tears streaming down their faces. Somewhere between when she finally closed her eyes and her sobs, her parents had entered. They joined their children and Rose didn't remeber closing her eyes. But she did.

She left her parents and brother holding an empy shell of a body that they slowly laid down upon the hospital cot. They took turns kissing her forehead. And one by one they left her side. Hermione left first, out to rationalize and alert the hospital staff. She went to find a funeral home because she had to keep the family going. Hermione Granger-Weasley would cry when the work was over. Hermione would cry again when Rose's N.E.W.T. scores would come in the mail.

Ron cried right then and there. He had thought he was done crying but seeing Eose's limp body brought it all right back. Harry Potter, her beloved uncle, escorted Ron Weasley out of the room.

Hugo left sometime after. He left with a sick feeling in his stomach and a tingling in his fingers and eyes.

All that remained as a dim room and empy hallway devoid of all evidence of the comely family that had crowded it hours earlier.

This hallway looked like every other hallway in the ongoing hospital of St. Mungos because every patient had a an entourage of weeping nervous patrons.

Rose Weasley was one in a million. She had the mind of one in a generation but she was also one out of the five unlucky people out of 100,000. She was only one in the sea is hundrids dying at St. Mungo's daily.

Rose Weasley wasn't unique in that aspect.

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><p>Rose opened her eyes alone at Paddington Station.<p>

It was one of her favorite places in the world. This was where Rose would arrive with her family from their local station and take the tube to King's Cross at the insistence of her late grandfather.

Looking around, Rose was dissapointed to see no one else. She usually liked the bustle and activity. It was much to quiet for her liking. Hugo and their parents were no were to be found. Nor was Scorpius or the rest of her family, so Rose did the natural thing anyone else would have done.

She caught a train.

And left the lonely station.


End file.
